


His Soul Cried

by multicoloredpens



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:43:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multicoloredpens/pseuds/multicoloredpens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Without her his soul cried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Soul Cried

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Attack on Titan nor do I make any profit from this work.

The very instant his feet touched the ground, the moment he saw her beautiful face upturned and streaked with blood his soul cried.

He knew he needed to get moving. He needed to save that brat. But he couldn’t look away from her broken body. It was horribly fascinating.

The forest was strangely silent. And though his body was numb his very core, his soul cried in agony upsetting the stillness around him. As he turned to walk away his soul thrashed against its tightly locked cage. When he took to the trees again his face was passive. But his soul was quivering from pain and seething in anger. The monster who broke her would in turn be broken. Of that he would make certain.

When her body was thrown from the cart by their comrades his soul writhed in agony. This was wrong it cried. She should be spared, taken home, and laid to rest with her loved ones. With a pain expression he reminded himself that the world was cruel and unfair. The sheet she had been wrapped in peeled back in the air to display her beautiful blood smeared face to his gaze one last time. He couldn’t look away. His soul wouldn’t let him. It needed to see her. Just one last time.

He could hear her father speaking. Her father didn’t know she was gone. Her father talked as if he were mere moments from seeing her again. His soul wept at the mention of marriage. If only, if only.

Alone at last he sat at her desk. He would need to clear her belongings. The room would be given to a recruit. Passed off as if she’d never existed. His fingers brushed along her possessions. Lingering a long while on the hair brush he had given her for her birthday. The hairbrush he would run through her hair at night. He would never celebrate her birthday with her again. Defiantly his soul continued to weep. To let loose the tears he himself wasn’t ready to shed. He wondered if he would ever be able to shed the tears himself. He was still numb. He would forever be numb. And his soul would forever be cracked and broken.

To the world he would display the stony expression of a man who was untouchable. But in his moments alone he would continue to stare blankly at the wall, caress her hairbrush, and silently go through the torture his soul put him through. It would thrust upon him images of her alive and well. Them in a world without fear. Without death. And when he had had enough of the onslaught he would bite back harshly and his soul would shrink away. It would return to its locked cage. His soul would continue to cry for the loss of the woman who made them whole.


End file.
